<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>More by CCaptainRex</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28202391">More</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCaptainRex/pseuds/CCaptainRex'>CCaptainRex</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Baking, Ficmas, Fluff, Reader-Insert, Slow Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:41:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,815</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28202391</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCaptainRex/pseuds/CCaptainRex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Cookies are not meals." Mando states blandly and you roll your eyes. </p>
<p>"They're desserts, dessert is the best part of a meal."</p>
<p>----</p>
<p>Mando has never baked anything before, and you decide to change that. </p>
<p>(Ficmas Prompt 11: Baking)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) &amp; Din Djarin &amp; Reader, Din Djarin &amp; Reader, Din Djarin/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>144</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>More</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Humming softly, you whirled around the small kitchen, the child nestled in his bundle of blankets you'd made him. It felt like forever since you got some peace and quiet around here, let alone time off to spend doing nothing important. People always assumed, when you told them about your job, that you missed home. After all, flying around the universe with a bounty hunter and taking care of his 'child' meant you were always on a ship, always hopping from place to place, never settling down. Truth be told, you didn't mind it all. Mando was good company, and the child was cute enough to keep you happy with your work. </p>
<p>The one thing you missed most, however, was a kitchen. Cooking, baking, anything really, you missed the days spent in front of an oven and not eating ration bars and freeze-dried meat. Mando didn't truly understand, nor would the child, so you longed silently for the days you'd spend on a planet and with a kitchen. </p>
<p>And then, your prayers had been answered. Mando signed on to help do...something, you're not sure what, and you were put up in a little mud dried hut on a swamp planet, and it had an actual oven. You'd wasted no time, getting to work, and you'd been here all afternoon. You pull a tray from its drawer and turn, and you barely stop the scream that escapes you. "Maker, Mando, how long have you been standing there?" </p>
<p>Mando stands, somewhat threateningly in the doorway to the kitchen, whether or not he means to. For someone decked out in beskar armour, he can be absolutely silent sometimes, and it always throws you off when he just randomly appears places without a single sound. "Long enough. What are you doing?" </p>
<p>"Baking cookies. I thought, since I had some free time, I'd do some meal prep." Already, you'd baked some bread, made some soup, and you planned to whip up something else afterwards.</p>
<p>"Cookies are not meals." He states blandly and you roll your eyes. </p>
<p>"They're desserts, dessert is the best part of a meal-" You slide the tray onto the counter and quickly scoop up the child, who'd gotten into the mixing bowl somehow. "No, no, babies don't eat raw cookie dough!"  His fist is still in his mouth, and his little chaotic smile means he knew what he was doing. You laugh softly and shake your head, setting him back down and pulling the bowl of dough away from him. "I swear he gets into everything." </p>
<p>"Perhaps we should feed him more." Mando finally walks into the kitchen and hovers over the counter beside you. </p>
<p>Considering you knew very little about the child's species, that could very well be true, but you've also seen him eat a whole fish and not be satisfied, so maybe he was just a hungry baby. "We feed him plenty, I'm surprised he's not a little chub-ball by now." Mando just hums in agreement and you grab the small bag of oats you'd found at the market, and you can tell Mando is watching you intensely as you open up the bag. "Do you know how to bake?" </p>
<p>"No." His tone is short and clipped, but considering Mando doesn't discuss much about his past, you're happy you just get an answer. "Never really needed to learn." </p>
<p>"Well here, you can help me." You hand him a wooden spoon with a smile. "You're stronger than me, mixing should be easy." </p>
<p>Mando stares down at the bowl of dough, and it takes his a surprising amount of time to slowly pick it up. You sometimes forget just how different yours and Mando's world is, and how little he knows. For you, mixing cookie dough is something you could do in your sleep - For him, it's a whole new territory he has to learn. "So I just mix it?" </p>
<p>"Yes, mixing, spin the spoon in a circle-" You can tell he gives you a look, despite the helmet, and you laugh to yourself. "Just don't overpower it, I don't want dough all over the kitchen." </p>
<p>"Alright." He starts to mix and you have to contain your laughter at the awkwardness of the movement, and Mando's head snaps up to look at you. You just smile and place a hand on his arm, taking the bowl from him. </p>
<p>"Maybe I should mix and you should pour." You say calmly, and Mando just continues to stare at you. You shake your head with a smile and wonder when exactly this became your life. "Alright, alright, keep mixing then. You just have an interesting technique." </p>
<p>He takes the bowl back from you with a huff and doesn't respond, instead opting to start mixing again. You pour out two cups of oats, and Mando tilts his head to the side. "What's that for?" </p>
<p>"Oats?" You turn to look at him, and he gives a subtle nod. "Oats are typically just preference, I suppose. It doesn't have any major taste, mostly just texture." You pour the first cup in and Mando easily mixes it in, and you roll your eyes. "I hope you know it's a proper workout for me to mix this batter, and you're doing it like it's <i>nothing</i>." </p>
<p>"Maybe you just need to be stronger." He replies with a hint of a smile in his voice, and you smack his arm with a scoff. </p>
<p>"Maybe you need to be weaker." The child coos, almost defensively, and you turn to rub some flour off of his forehead. "What? Not my fault Mando's ripped under that armour, it's not fair to the rest of us." </p>
<p>Mando stills, ever so slightly, at your comment, his mixing rhythm thrown. You turn to look at him and he quickly gets back into mixing without a word, and you laugh to yourself again. His visor slowly raises and you hide your laugh behind your hand, turning to pick up the second cup of oats. "What's so funny?" </p>
<p>"Nothing, nothing." You say as you pour the oats in, and you can tell he has to work a bit harder to properly stir them in. It gives you a bit of satisfaction, knowing he isn't that strong. "Man, I've missed this." </p>
<p>"Cookies?" Mando asks awkwardly, as if he couldn't understand missing something. You lean up against the counter and look across the kitchen and the absolute mess you and the child had made so far with a smile. You and Mando had very different lives, even while working together. You missed cold winter days spent making hot chocolate and gingerbread men, he missed fighting and hunting and living on his own. You missed cooking, he missed...he missed something, he had to. </p>
<p>"Baking. I used to spend every weekend doing this, from the ages of four until, well, now." You admit quietly, and Mando stops stirring for a moment. </p>
<p>"I didn't-" He cuts himself off, and you know why. The tinge of fondness in his voice, the vulnerability of the conversation. One wrong word and you both slip into an easy conversation about childhoods, about private lives, and Mando prefers to keep that all to himself. "I didn't know that." </p>
<p>You shrug and move to sort through the other ingredients, trying to find the chocolate chips. "Well, it's somewhat hard to bake in the middle of space. That's why I do meal prep, so I don't get stuck eating those ration bars every day." You try to keep it light, but the joke falls flat. </p>
<p>"I never learned to cook." Mando continues stirring as if he didn't just drop a tonne of information on you without warning. "Not really. Anything that isn't instant takes too long." </p>
<p>"Even-" Even as a child? There are a million questions and a million possible answers, but you know that alone is more than he'll ever admit again. "Even things like toast?" </p>
<p>"Toast is instant." He responds blankly. "And ration bars are easy to carry around." </p>
<p>You pick up a bag with a smile and turn to him. "One of these days, I'm teaching you how to cook. Something easy, like...Like fried Nuna or pasta or something." </p>
<p>"That would be nice," Mando admits quietly, and for once there's not an ounce of annoyance or anger in it. You smile up at him and try to picture Mando in a kitchen, in an apron, baking. It's insane enough he's standing here mixing the batter, you can't picture him willingly helping. Something tells you he's smiling back down at you, and you fight the blush that dares to spring to your cheeks. </p>
<p>You finally grab the chocolate chips and open the bag. "How much should I add?" </p>
<p>"How should I know?" Mando asks, that hint of snark returning to his voice, and you glare at him.</p>
<p>"Well, I'm just asking if you want it sweeter or not." You respond and he stays silent for a bit, staring down into the mixture. </p>
<p>After a moment, he finally responds. "The whole bag." </p>
<p>"The whole bag? Seriously?" Mando doesn't respond and you laugh, pouring the whole bag into the bowl. "Didn't take you for someone with a sweet tooth." </p>
<p>"The child will like them." Is the excuse Mando gives, and if he didn't have his helmet on, you could probably see him blushing. He starts to vigorously mix the batter and for a moment you worry about him snapping the spoon in two before he decides he's done and holds the bowl out to you expectantly. You just laugh and take the bowl from him, setting it down beside the tray. Mando follows along, and you didn't expect him to stick around this long. Perhaps he does have a sweet tooth, after all. </p>
<p>"How was today?" You ask and the child coos nearby, and you watch Mando hand one of the small chocolate chips from the batter to him to eat. </p>
<p>"Fine." Is the only response you get, and you start to form the balls on the tray. </p>
<p>If there was another thing you missed when it came to working with Mando, it was unbridled conversation. Late-night gossip sessions, hours spent filled with mindless talking and not having to worry about what you said. Now it felt like you constantly walked on eggshells around him when it came to words, despite the fact you doubted he even cared. </p>
<p>Mando was one of those people who was hard to crack. In the time you've gotten to know him, you've gotten to know some more personal details than anyone else ever would. That occasionally, he'll talk to the child and pretend he talks back. Or he makes random hand gestures when doing things, probably whispering to himself, or that he has a habit of trailing dirt everywhere he goes. He's not as scary as he looks, but he's still terrifying. </p>
<p>So it's moments like these, where he comes up beside you and makes sure the lines on the tray are straight, that you wonder what the real Mando is like. His name. His face. Why he put up with you and why he loved the child so much. "Now we bake them, and in about twenty minutes, we'll have warm cookies to eat." </p>
<p>"Twenty minutes?" Mando repeats, almost sounding disappointed. You turn to give him a smile and his head snaps away as you take the tray and set it into the oven. He truly was used to instant foods. Nowadays, it barely took a few minutes to make a meal, making something that took this long was rare. </p>
<p>"Yes, twenty minutes, unless you want raw cookies." You dust off your hands and turn back to the child, who sneezes and almost smacks his head off the wall. "Now come on, you little womprat, let's get you cleaned up." He's absolutely covered in flour after a small mishap that resulted in him knocking over a bag of flour, and you can tell it's starting to annoy him. </p>
<p>To your surprise, it's Mando who picks him up and brushes off some of the flour. "I can take him to have a bath, you watch the cookies." You wonder what the real Mando is like because, in that one sentence, you're pretty sure that's him right there. A strange dad whose not at all as scary as he really is. You've truly grown to like Mando, as strange as the concept seems. At first, you were terrified of him. He was a bounty hunter and killing machine, and now? Now you cared for him, perhaps a bit too much. He was someone who was always there, always protecting and making sure you were safe. </p>
<p>When you don't immediately respond he turns to watch you smiling at him, and he tilts his head towards you. You realize you'd been staring and quickly turn your head to glance at the timer at the wall. "What?" </p>
<p>"Nothing." You managed to stutter out, grabbing the dirty dishes left behind. "Go enjoy bath-time, I'll clean up here." Now it's Mando's turn to stare, before giving a sharp nod and walking away. You watch him go with a shake of your head, and if anyone had told you what he was really like when you first met him, you would've called them crazy. The Mandalorian, taking his adoptive son to have a bath after baking cookies? Never in a million years. </p>
<p>And yet here you are, cleaning up the aftermath and listening to the child giggle and squawk from the bathroom. Today was the perfect day, truly. A full kitchen, getting to spend some peace and quiet with the child and Mando. These days are rare, more and more often spent rushing around trying not to get shot. </p>
<p>You don't miss your old life, but you definitely miss the comfort of always being safe. With Mando by your side, you know nothing will happen, but the threat still remains. Your timer blares and shakes you from your thoughts and you pull on oven mitts and pull out the tray. You'll leave them out to cool for a minute or two, then bring some for the child and Mando. </p>
<p>You wonder, somehow, if he lied about not knowing you love baking. After all, most places don't come stocked with a million kitchen utensils and ready-to-use baking ingredients. Maybe you just got lucky, maybe you're invading someone's home for the week, or maybe Mando decided to take some pity on you and set this up. Whatever it is, you don't mind one bit. </p>
<p>You place two cookies on the plate and make your way up the stairs, and stop when you hear Mando's voice. "No eating bubbles." The child mumbles back, and Mando fakes a gasp. "Pardon me?" There's a splash of water followed by laughter and your fist pauses over the door, never hearing Mando laugh like that before. It's a soft, deep sound, and you're not going to lie when you say it does things to your heart. Waiting a moment to see if he'll say anything else, you gently rap your knuckles against the door, and you can tell you startle him. "What?" </p>
<p>"Cookies are ready, I thought you might like some." You slowly open the door and find Mando is kneeling beside the bath, where the child currently sits in a pile of bubbles. You place the plate down on the counter by the sink and gently poke a finger against Mando's helmet. "I'll leave you two be, so you can try them." </p>
<p>"I can eat them later," Mando says, almost a bit too quickly, and you smile down at him. </p>
<p>"They'll be cold later. Now try them, okay? You might just like them." You respond as you leave, closing the door behind you. With the foundling now in his possession, Mando can take the helmet off around him, even if he doesn't like doing it. That's the one thing about Mando you never really understood; You'd met Mandalorians before who took off their helmets all the time, what about him was different? You never judged him for it, you just simply wondered why.</p>
<p>As soon as your feet hit the bottom step of the stairs, you hear the telltale sign of the helmet hitting the floor, and you smile to yourself as you take a cookie off the tray. They're far sweeter than you'd normally make, a combination of the child deciding to dump more sugar in and Mando deciding to add the entire bag of chocolate chips, but you don't mind. </p>
<p>Your commlink goes off, for some strange reason, and you hesitate to look at it. The only reason you ever use it is to communicate with Mando, and even then it's rare. Anyone else with that number concerns you. </p>
<p>When you do finally read the notification, you laugh out loud at the simple message sent from Mando.</p>
<p>'More?'</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>